William Bernhardt - Hate Crime

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Mike answered. “More likely the frat boys got to Tony before Manny had a chance.”

“Lucky day for Tony Barovick,” Swift said ruefully. “People waiting in line to hurt him.”

“That’s his reward for partnering with murderous thugs,” Mike replied. He pulled his cell phone out of his coat pocket and started dialing. “That Christensen kid has been saying all along he and his friend didn’t kill Tony, but no one believed him. Including me.” He punched in a phone number. “Damn it. I hate it when Ben and Christina are right.”

“Hello?” said Ben’s voice on the other end of the phone.

“Good afternoon, counselor,” Mike answered. “Court adjourned for the day?”

“Just a break.”

“How’s it looking?”

“Like our client is going down hard, barring a miracle.”

“Well,” Mike said, casting a look around the room, “I know I’m never going to convince you that I’m an angel. But I may have just the miracle you’ve been looking for.”

“Do you think this is going to work?” Christina whispered to Ben as she saw the bailiff emerging from the judge’s chambers.

“I don’t know,” he said, lips tight. Christina knew the expression-it was a sign his brain was working, probably several steps ahead of hers. “Coming this late in the game, I’m afraid the jury won’t believe it. It would be better if we could produce the fourth man, the remaining kidnapper.”

“Well, yes, I’m sure the police would like that, too. But how do you plan to accomplish it?”

“I’ve got an idea, but it’s risky.”

“Ben, there will be no second chance. If we don’t do something immediately, the case will end, it will go to the jury, Johnny will be on death row, and all the evidence on heaven and earth won’t be enough to get him out.”

“True.” He hesitated. “I should probably run this by Mike first.” He shook his head. “But he’d never permit it.”

Judge Lacayo called the court back into session. “Ms. McCall, I understand you have an additional witness to call who is not on your list?”

“Yes, your honor.” Christina rose to her feet. “We call Shelly Chimka to the stand.”

Drabble was predictably outraged. He moaned about sleazy defense tricks and fair notice and the pointlessness of submitting witness lists if the parties weren’t going to be bound by them. But in chambers, Christina produced Major Mike Morelli, who assured the judge that this witness had just been found, and furthermore that her testimony was not only critical to the case but that a gross miscarriage of justice might result if the witness was not heard. Under those circumstances, the judge had little choice.

All things considered, Shelly did an admirable job on the stand. Ben and Christina’d had little time to prepare her, and this was only the second time she’d told her story to anyone. But it was spellbinding, just the same. The jury hung on her every word. Christina couldn’t be sure whether they believed her. But they were definitely listening.

“Did the two men who attacked you ever say what it was they were planning to do to Tony?”

Shelly took a deep breath, tried to steady herself. “Not in so many words. But it was clear they weren’t planning to give him a big kiss and a hug. They kept saying that Tony had betrayed them. One time Manny said, ‘I’ll teach that little creep what happens when he holds out on his partners.’ ”

“What happened after you made the phone call?”

“That was all they wanted from me. Manny took the hilt of the butcher knife and hit me on the head-hard. I fell to the floor. I guess I passed out for a while-I’m not sure how long. I was already woozy from loss of blood. When I woke up, I bandaged myself. It was nasty, but not fatal. As soon as I could, I called Remote Control. But by that time it was one in the morning. Tony was already dead.”

Christina nodded solemnly. “And you have no idea who the other man was?”

“I don’t. I wish I did. But they were very careful never to call one another by name. I have no way of knowing.”

“I understand,” Christina said gently. “Thank you for testifying. I know how hard it must have been for you.”

“It was the least I could do,” she replied. “For Tony. I’ll never be able to forgive myself for what I did to him. Even if he was involved with these kidnappers, the Tony I knew was kind, and gentle and… and he took care of me. Always. But when it came time for me to do something for him-I failed. Miserably.” Tears filled her eyes. “And now he’s gone. And he’s never coming back.”

Needless to say, the reporters were riveted by this sudden, unforeseen development in the case. It had been juicy enough to attract major media attention when it was an antigay hate crime. Now that it had morphed and linked itself to a notorious kidnapping, the interest rate doubled. The media scrambled, trying to figure out how to spin the new developments. They’d been treating Tony Barovick as if he were a martyred angel; now it appeared he was considerably less angelic. Did that make his death less a tragedy?

In a rare acquiescence, Ben agreed to hold a press conference in the ground floor lobby of the courthouse. While the court clerk set up the conference platform, Ben conferred with Judge Lacayo’s bailiff, Boxer Johnson.

“So you’re available?”

“If you say so,” the sturdy man replied. Ben only hoped he looked as good as Johnson when he was in his fifties. “Think I should bring my weapon?”

“Oh yeah. Bring several.”

A few moments later, Ben stepped up to the platform. First, he read a prepared statement, then he took questions. The first few were softballs that he handled with no difficulty. But that didn’t last long.

“This new development has taken us all by surprise-and left some observers extremely dubious, if not downright cynical,” a CNN reporter said.

“Can’t say that I’m surprised,” Ben answered. “We live in a cynical world.”

“When did you get the first indication that this murder was linked to the Metzger kidnapping?”

“We’ve had prior indications from an officer with the Tulsa PD that there might be a connection between this murder and two subsequent ones. We first believed there was a connection to an Ecstacy drug ring, but we had no evidence. It was only today that we learned about the connection to the Metzger kidnapping.”

“Mr. Kincaid,” the reporter from ABC chimed in, “the parents of Tony Barovick have released a statement saying that ‘this is a typical trick of a desperate lawyer. We all know who killed Tony. Why are we putting up with this?’ ”

“With due respect to the Barovicks, who have suffered a horrible loss, they do not know who killed Tony. All they know is what the police have told them. And the police were wrong. I understand the need for the bereaved to seek closure, or at least retribution. But we can’t convict the wrong man just to please his parents.”

“I notice the prosecutor has not dropped the case,” noted a reporter holding a Fox News mike. “What do you think it will take to convince him you’re right?”

Ben took a moment before answering. “I think we’re going to have to produce the fourth man. The other kidnapper. The one who’s still at large.”

“But you don’t know who he is.”

“That’s where you’re wrong,” Ben said. “The kidnapper may think he’s safe. He may think he’s pulled off the perfect crime. But he hasn’t. I know who he is. And tomorrow morning in court-I’ll prove it.”

He snapped off the television. Well, that didn’t leave him much choice, did it? The time to act-finally and decisively-had arrived.